


He Is

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:38:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an apology for being inactive. I know, its terrible but I'm having feelings about these two...</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Is

It used to be so much more complicated than it is. Its still confusing and muddled, but its simpler. And so is he.  
He's the one who tends the tiny little flower beds above the bunker and fills the birdfeeder. He makes two, sometimes three, mugs of coffee in the morning in the small kitchen. He's a hopeless romantic when he wants to be, and utterly clueless sometimes too. The one who walks around in his underwear on sunday afternoons because what's the point of getting dressed if you're not going anywhere?  
And the flowers grow and bloom, as they have done for three springs now. The tomatoes failed in their first, but he replaced them and now they never have to buy. The birds must tell he's something different, bigger, but infinitely gentle, as they come down to perch on his shoulder, sometimes eat from his hand. He can often be seen out there on a warm summer day with his face turned to the sun soaking up its warmth. And when he opens his eyes its like the sky's reflected in them, but brighter.  
He gets sad too, and sometimes he needs left alone on those days, but thats okay. Because he comes back, like he always has. He sometimes needs a warm embrace, sometimes he needs to hold, sometimes he just needs to be close to someone and be quiet. Thats okay too. He'll always return.  
And Dean will be waiting there always for when he does. Whether its to the big, cushy sofa in their makeshift sitting room, or between the sheets of his - _their_ \- bed. With outstretched arms and open palms to receive his hand and body and soul. It sometimes feels surreal, holding the hands that pieced him back together from the darkest part of his soul up. Still, he's there for when he needs him, like he always should have been. He'll kiss his eyelids, and make him laugh with one on his nose, then on his mouth to reaffirm what they know.  
He knows this body inch by inch, from the planes of his back, to the little ticklish spot under his ear. His favourite thing to do is press his lips softly to the sweep of his cheekbone and let them linger there for a few moments when they're lying together in the morning.  
It should be strange, waking up to him every morning and going to sleep with him every night, but it isnt. It should feel weird, with their vast, crazy history together, but they've been to hell and back quite literally. Nothing's weird now.  
If he were to describe him in one word, infinite wouldnt suffice. Nor would amazing, or incredible. He would use the one thing that described him perfectly because he's his, and he's his own person too. He's big, beautiful, fantastic, celestial and iridescent all in one. He's Castiel. And Castiel's what he'll always be.


End file.
